I'm Coming Home
by DetectiveOfTheOpera
Summary: Two years after Sherlock's death, John Watson is still not ready to move on. Sherlock has finished all his missions and can't wait to see John. He meets Harry Watson and plans the perfect way to break the news to John. Sherlock Holmes is coming home.
1. Chapter 1

I'm Coming Home

A Johnlock Fanfiction

DetectiveOfTheOpera

CHAPTER ONE

'Alone is what I am, Alone protects me.' 'No, Sherlock, friends protect people.' Those same words rang in my ear as I got kicked out into the stone cold pavement of the Kremlin and two large, muscular men exited the door into the mysterious alleyway.

"What are you still doing here, huh? In for one more beating?" one of the muscular men asked in a raspy voice well known to suit a respected Russian Mafia gang member. I tried to tell him that his wife had gone on a trip with her lover, an Arabian, to a secluded part in Africa, but all that came out were helpless whimpers. One of the two men, who now had gloves and a bad case of dandruff grabbed a pipe that was close by and swung it aiming at my stomach, then my legs the following second. Before I could even react from the pain I let out a frustrated groan and picked myself off the floor and ran across the alleyway. A van pulled up and I almost tripped of relief when I got inside. Exhaustion finally came over me like an approaching storm and I fainted, awoken hours later by the sound of a starting jet.

"How was sleep, brother dear?" Mycroft asked in his usual tone of voice, dry, and lacking human emotion.

"Fine, Mycroft. Now tell me where we are going; I am expecting Switzerland." My tone was more or less the same, the latter the fault of dehydration.

"Oh no, dearest brother, I have something much more pleasant planned for your sake. I am reuniting you with an old friend, this doctor I was able to catch up with a few days ago while you were being worked to death by the strongest mafia you were able to bring down; with my help of course. The problem is, after two years, he was able to move on with his life, and he moved out of Baker Street. Sorry Sherlock, you will not be able to visit him today, though." Mycroft cast a grim smile and called Anthea to bring some 2001 St-Emilion. I looked outside of the jet, the sky was descending and night was being cast over Europe. My mind slowly drifted off, undisturbed by any case and brought on by sweet dreams of reuniting with my blogger again.

John looked around the flat until he found , she was thinner now, and her hair was more gray was ever. She looked sick, driven by grief to now dwell in 221B since both of her boys had one again left her all on her own. John walked over and gently held his hand out to touch Mrs. Hudson's shoulder. She gasped and John quickly pulled his hand away. Mrs. Hudson looked up from Sherlock's chair and looked John in the eye.

She was tearing up, John noticed, and he held her gently in his arms until she asked him how he was holding up. Mrs. Hudson got up and walked over to the kitchen and took out two tea cups and a box of biscuits from on top of the now empty fridge that no longer held a severed head or cut off toes. She put the kettle to boil and put the biscuits on the fancy tea tray that reminded John of his restless days and sleepless nights with Sherlock.

"So, John, what have you been up to? I have a feeling that you have been traveling a lot, right dear?"

As ever, Mrs. Hudson, being Mrs. Hudson, was incorrect. "Well, Mrs. Hudson," seeing the look of sadness that meant Mrs. Hudson had hoped to be why John had been away for so long and John did what he had to do, he had to lie.

"Well, Mrs. Hudson, I had been away, I was visiting my sister who got out of rehab a few months ago. She's happy though, finished drinking, when she gets urges to drink she ldrinks water or juice or something that just isn't... You know, alcohol" It was only half a lie though, he had spent time with Harry, but was now preoccupied by different matters such as where Harry had gone. Mrs. Hudson let out a warm smile and a good for you mutter but was now staring off into space.

It seemed she was remembering the good old days where there was laughter and gunshots and sweet music floating gracefully from a violin, and now 221B was just a room, held neatly by the most faithful housekeeper of all.

Sherlock opened his two year old laptop and went to his homepage 'The Blog Of Dr. John H Watson'. As soon as he learned to use the laptop, five minutes after he got it, he instantly made John's blog his homepage. He saw it everyday and read all of John's stories about their adventures. He noticed that ever since Sherlock died, John had not even posted one story and Sherlock was getting anxious to meet him again.

He tried to phone John, though; but everytime that Sherlock finally got the phone to call, he didn't want to text that he wasn't dead to John like The Woman; Sherlock always got the phone and ran away, got intercepted by Mycroft or ended up crying as soon as he heard John's voice. Sherlock did not like to show emotion, especially vulnerability, but to Sherlock John was always an exception. So most of the day he wrote deductions about the people in the plane or in the airport; he also spent most of his sleepless nights sketching John or Mrs. Hudson, mostly John though; and simple things too such as John sitting on the couch, John smiling as they run through the streets of London, or John sticking out his cute little tongue as he typed in his blog. Sherlock had never draw so fervently in his whole life, even when he was in the library, silently drawing random librarians in the corner where no one sat.

John was special, unique, interesting, and Sherlock never felt like that about anyone ever since his first crush, Andrew Clarke. It was just in Uni, and it was a male, and Sherlock was surprised. He then figured out that the didn't matter if the gender was male or female; if they were interesting, Sherlock thought about them; and John stayed on Sherlock's mind at all hours.

Sherlock usually did sketches, but with some of his best work, he turned them into pastel paintings. Sherlock Holmes was the happiest he had ever been when he met John, he remembered. As soon as John came in the door at the lab in St. Bart's, Sherlock couldn't help but stare. He tried to stay cool, but Sherlock was more noticeably excited than usual ; John was not only attractive, but Sherlock deducted that he was loyal, trustworthy, was a veteran war hero. Sherlock realized, after three long years, William Sherlock Scott Holmes was attracted to John Hamish Watson.


	2. I'm Coming Home Chapter 2

I'm Coming Home

A Johnlock Fanfiction

CHAPTER TWO

As Harriet Watson moved into her new flat after rehabilitation due to Clara's

disappearance, She couldn't help but look up to the sky, relieve to see it, and say a good luck prayer, 'Let's hope my life from now on isn't as screwed up as the one before rehab' she muttered under her breath.

"Yes, me too" someone behind her said. She looked at the door of her flat, too shocked to look at the unknown person behind her.

When she finally mustered up the courage to look behind her, she felt relieved. It was just a tall man draped in a black coat, a navy blue scarf placed around his pale neck to keep him from the cold, a purple dress shirt fit perfectly against his body, sea green eyes that you would be able to get lost in, and cheekbones you could cut yourself on. Nothing new.

"Who are you, and what are you doing standing in front of my luggage?" she asked curiously. The man held out his hand to shake.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, I'm a…..a baker, and your new neighbor." Sherlock flashed a toothy grin but Harry saw right through it.

"You aren't my next door neighbor, Mr. Winter is, and aren't you supposed to be

dead?" Sherlock let out a half frustrated half angry moan from the back of his throat

and she smiled.

"Fancy fish and chips, dead guy?" Sherlock just started walking to the

other sidewalk crossing the street.

"Oi! Where are you going?" she shouted, chasing

after him.

"I know this great fish and chips shop; the owner always gives me extra

portions."

'as long as it's extra portions', Harry thought.

Harry liked him, he was witty, and she could tell he was smart. Perfectly John's type; Harry wondered what it was like to live with him; 'he must be a nuisance with all he felt like he had to express and share with the world' she thought. She laughed silently to herself, her sarcasm was unmatched.

"So tell me about yourself. Let me guess, only one in the world?" She asked and Sherlock rapidly turned around and looked at her so fast she tripped backwards despite the helping hand of the slender man.

"Watch yourself, you could get hurt." he said, but Harry with a quick reply to everything and replied "Bloody good that does me now, Great Sherlock Holmes!" Sherlock smiled and thought 'Just like her brother, it seems'.

Harry stood up and a few minutes later they were sitting on a bench with the best fish and chips in town.

"Sherlock?" Harry asked, always curious about the world.

"You say you're a consulting detective, can you detect something about me?" Sherlock looked at her in amusement, an expression that did not quite suit his face, she noticed, but then Sherlock began to speak, only to correct her.

"It's deduce, what can I deduce about you, not detect about you." he answered coldly and discreetly.

"Oh, well then, Sherlock Holmes, what can you deduce about me? Can you tell me my life story or not?" Before she could even finish her sentence Sherlock responded.

"I can tell you've never had a good home life and lived in poverty because you were disowned by your parents at the age of nine because the clothes you wear are from the thrift shop and you are used to them but always felt the polyester was a bit too rough because you shift in it uncomfortably but you have no memory of doing so. You have a twitch in your left hand meaning you are a lefty, and you usually stretch your hand after you type, which means your previous job was as a secretary or journalist, but the way you have a quick tongue for answers helps me deduce that you're a secretary, for you need to be fast responding for your daily job. You have black hair, but your original hair is blonde because your hair follicles are dry, used and your roots are showing only slightly. I can also tell you're a lesbian, because the way you look at men with scorn, but you look at women with sadness meaning that your girlfriend, no wife, left you and you have a secret hate for men because you were probably laughed at in your childhood for acting too much like a girl because you have traits acquired from men, but not from your father, because he walked out on your family shortly before your mother, but your brother, who stayed with you as you got when you got dumped you out into the streets." Harry Watson just gawked at Sherlock.

Sherlock seemed cold, distant, and rude at first but when he told her the story of her life she just uttered the only word she could think of "Amazing". Sherlock smiled, thinking those were the same words his soul mate said when they first met.

"You think so?" and Harry smiled.

"My brother told me about you, Sherlock. He said you were the best and wisest man he's ever met. He said you were amazing, and that you always looked absolutely stunning in that hat, the deerstalker hat, you looked gorgeous. I talked with him, in rehab. He was the happiest he's ever been, he was... Glowing." She finished and Sherlock looked like he was about to cry of joy.

"I was happy with him too." Sherlock whispered, almost unbearable to anyone except Harry. "Come on, Sherlock. You, mister, are coming home with me. Let's go".

Sherlock, as if in a trance, got up and followed Harry a few blocks from Baker Street. A few blocks from John Watson.


	3. I'm Coming Home Chapter 3

A/N: I FEEL LIKE A PIECE OF CHRISTMAS NUTS! I actually almost forgot this old thing until I checked and realized it had 11 followers. My most sincere apologies for making you guys wait! I think you might want to read the previous chapter or else you won't have any idea what's you so much for not un-following or…things….Can you even unfollow a story? Oh whale, enjoy!

CHAPTER THREE

"What are you doing here, John? You were doing so well, what happened?"

At that moment, I honestly didn't know how to respond to her question. Was she asking me how Sherlock, you know; or what actually happened for I to come back after one long year of no consultations.

"It's just that, it's hard for me, I've never been good coping with things I didn't understand. And I don't get why Sherlock had go kill himself, in the peak of his life, with him knowing he had people who loved him. I get Moriarty was on his back, but we all have enemies. We could have solved this problem together." tears started rolling down my cheeks and there was no way of stopping them from falling onto the hardwood floor, but my therapist didn't mind.

"We all must cope with the death of a loved one, John. It's part of the grieving process. It's a natural thing to feel confused, angry, and depressed."

It hasn't been long since I visited Sherlock's grave. I went there last week, sat down in the soft, green grass which felt more like being in a park with Sherlock than a cemetery in which Sherlock lay underground. I talked to him for hours and hours about cases I found, one that he could have solved, and about our adventures through London. It hadn't been hard to identify which ones he liked; after all, he was just in my mind. I knew I was talking to myself, but one part of me just held a tiny glimpse of hope that Sherlock could be listening.

After the therapist, I went to Sherlock's grave and bought some fresh daisies to put on his tombstone. As I sat down to eat some fish and chips next to Sherlock's grave I saw Harry walking towards me in the distance. Would she be paying tribute to Sherlock, by any chance? No, I don't think so; she barely knew him, other than what I've told her about and what she read in the papers. She sat next to me and placed her head on Sherlock's tombstone.

"Hey, Johnny, how you holding up?" she asked.

'What a rhetorical question, I'm kind of doing terrible, can't you see, Harry? I'm losing my mind, do you know that? It's hard for me to think, act, speak, and even sleep without Sherlock. Can't you see?!' Obviously I never said those words aloud, but Harry always knew how I felt. She gave me a pitied smile and then stood up to leave.

"Sherlock told me to tell you he likes daisies, and you should bring them next week." and Harry walked off.

I stared as she went, then took a good look at Sherlock's tombstone. 'Could it really be that Harry knew Sherlock? It's that...no, that's not possible, Sherlock is dead. Sherlock is dead. Sherlock is-' I just couldn't possibly think that Sherlock Holmes is still alive. I got up after I finished my chips and started walking towards the front gates. Then I spotted Harry with someone, a tall, slender man who closely resembled Sherlock. I started to run towards the gate, but my cane was slowing me down and by the time I reached the copper gate, both Harry and the Sherlock look-alike were gone.

#IBELIEVEINSHERLOCKHOLMES

"Mission was a success." Harry claimed and grabbed Sherlock's arm to lead him out of the cemetery before John was able to catch up.

Sherlock clasped his hands together and even though he was being pulled by Harry, he stayed firmly in place for about two minutes just watching John at his grave. Harry pulled as hard as she could until they were out of the premises of the cemetery. They walked until their feet gave out and stumbled into a three star diner. Harry decided it was time to eat, and it took an eternity for her to come convince Sherlock of the same thing.

When they were finally seated in a plush, blue and green booth with a checkered table, they opened their sixties themed menus and Sherlock found something he just had to try.

"Hmmmm, look Harry, honey covered omelet with blueberry and honey pancakes with turkey bacon." Harry looked at him and laughed softly, almost surprised that Sherlock was so fascinated with honey.

"You really like honey, don't you, Sher?" Sherlock looked up at Harry, he looked like a puppy who got bullied to many times and kicked even more.

"I guess" he replied shyly, almost as if he was a child who took too many sweets from a candy jar and was now being reprimanded for it.

"Hey, Sher, wanna play a game? It's called Deductions. John taught me to play in rehab. It's super fun and I always win." She smiled triumphantly at Sherlock and Sherlock just smiled mischievously.

"Well then, let's play. I'll be sure to go easy on you" Sherlock replied.

Harry didn't need Sherlock's help, and after a few minutes their food came and Harry had won twice. They ate and got back to Harry's place as the sun was setting over the London sky.

They decided it was time to go to bed and Harry went to go change her clothes and brush her teeth, as Sherlock got into his pajamas and took out his toothbrush and went to the bathroom. As soon as Harriet Watson was asleep, Sherlock took out his sketch pad and began so sketch John sitting across from Sherlock's grave over and over again until the sun rose and shone through the curtained windows across Sherlock's sofa bed.

Harry walked out of her room in a sleepy trance in a long Superman shirt and Batman shorts. She tried to take out some orange juice from the top shelf in her new fridge. She tried to grasp it, but all she caught was air. Sherlock stretched out a hand with some pulpy orange juice from behind her and put the juice box back.

"Sorry, got to it first, now shall be begin today's schedule?"

Harry got some cereal from the pantry a bowl from the dishwasher and clumsily put orange juice inside her bowl with cereal and started to eat, she knew it wasn't milk, but at this early in the morning, she quite frankly didn't care.

"Okay, what's our schedule?" she asked and Sherlock, too disgusted by the orange juice cereal, just looked at her in disgusted shock.

Harry mocked his face and Sherlock snapped out of his emotions and said, making sure he was very clear, "First, we will go to my brother, Mycroft, and pull in some favors to get you a job. Then we will eat lunch, Mycroft isn't easy to persuade, and after we will go to 221B Baker Street to see Mrs. Hudson and drink some tea after she gets back from the shock." Harry looked like she was listening intently, but she didn't care the most minimum.

A few Hmmmmmmmm's here and there and then when Harry understood what Sherlock had said she was confused about one thing "What about John? Is he not going to know your alive today?" Sherlock shook his head ferociously in a big 'NO NO NO' expression.

"John Watson can't know I'm alive, not yet."


	4. I'm Coming Home Chapter 4

A/N: I got you guys another chapter mostly because of the long wait. Once again, I'm so sorry guys! I'll try to post every (Saturday? Meh) week but I have writers block right now. Oh whale, enjoy!

CHAPTER FOUR

John Watson entered London Square in. Accessory Mall with Mrs. Hudson, John spent all day wondering how this would pan out and why he had agreed on this in the first place. John rewinds to a few hours before the grand incident.

#IBELIEVEINSHERLOCKHOLMES

"Oh come on, John. Please come shopping with me, dear. We will have so much fun and I know how to do colors, remember?"

John had pondered over the request for a long and hard two minutes. He decided that it was good that Mrs. Hudson would like to go out shopping since she had been stuck in Baker Street this whole time. And there was a pro to this sticky situation, Mrs. Hudson did know how to handle colors.

"Oh, all right; I'll go order a cab as soon as I put on my jacket." Mrs. Hudson never looked so happy in her whole life. After all, going shopping with her children was her favorite thing to do. They got in the cab, paid by the curtesy of Mycroft Holmes; the rich bastard. In the mall they had to walk to every store Mrs. Hudson saw fit for John to try on jumpers. As John tried on his fiftieth and last jumper, John got in the stall that out came a man with size eleven feet and the poor fellow crashed into John.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, excuse me." John almost went mad and looked up, John knew that voice everywhere; but all that he saw was a ginger in a purple blouse and jeans that fit him perfectly. John was disappointed, he couldn't lie that he sincerely hoped it was Sherlock who he had crashed into seconds before. John quickly got in the dressing room and was shocked about what he had seen; in big, black, bold letters there was scrawled BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES.

John almost got a heart attack and had to run out of the dressing room and find that tall ginger. He ran out of the store, sounding the alarm on the way out. He had to find the ginger and ask him what is his connection to Sherlock; but the ginger was gone. He was then tackled and taken to the prison in the back of the mall followed by a shocked Mrs. Hudson. John was sure he was losing his mind; he was seeing Sherlock everywhere but he couldn't help it.

Was it the grief?

Was it just that everyone in Britain looked like Sherlock?

He was sure that Sherlock was dead and there was nothing to stop it. As he got thrown in jail he got his handcuffs taken off by the assistant of the jail guard, a man named Benedict. His features had a strikingly resemblance to Sherlock even though he was blonde and John was about to scream in madness but he was a soldier and knew how to keep his cool. As it turns out Benedict is actually a nice guy and that he loves reading mystery books such as Agatha Christie and some of Arthur Conan Doyle's short stories. It was a relief to find someone who looked like Sherlock but acted very differently. It was all smooth sailing until he started to talk about Sherlock. As it turns out he is a great Sherlock Holmes fan and he loves to read John's blog; he even has it as his homepage.

Greg Lestrade was finally able to come, as he was John's only call for help, and solve the situation by giving a testimony that John would never steal something on purpose and that he was just dazed by Sherlock's death. The mall was closing and even though Mrs. Hudson was disappointed, she was happy that she was able to have drama in her life after all. They were going to the cab station to call a cab and John saw that Benedict was waiting in line for a cab also and went through the line to greet him; but something was off about their encounter.

First of all, Benedict was wearing a tight purple shirt with a red scarf delicately placed over his slender neck and the fabulous coat over his whole package was navy blue that stretched up to his knees and he just looked like Sherlock; a lot. It was hard not to remember Sherlock when he saw him but Benedict was the same as ever and had no care about his appearance. Through the middle of their conversation a woman came up to them and hugged Benedict tightly around the waist.

"Hello, my name is Henrietta, but people call me Henry." She said. Henry looked a lot like John's sister, Harry, but the names were not as similar and she was a couple of inches shorter.

"Oh, hello, nice to meet you. Are you Benedict's girlfriend or something?" John asked, as politely as he could and trying not to sound like a little jealous schoolgirl.

"Oh no, no, no. Dear Benny here is playing for the other team if you know own what I mean." Up to now Benedict had liked where the conversation was heading but when Henry mentioned the other team thing, Benedict went red all over; his cheeks, ears, and even his forehead looked like it was on fire. John flushed at the thought of being able to be with Benedict and it was making him all weird inside.

He knew he was straight, but Sherlock, Benedict, and the Sherlock look alike had been making him go crazy recently. By the time the conversation had been over, Mrs. Hudson had managed to find a cab and she and John went safely home. Mrs. Hudson took a nap and John made some tea while he looked at a YouTube tutorial to play the violin just like Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
